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Friday, September 9, 2011

Two steps forward, two steps back

If you got in my way yesterday while I pounded the pavement in my rainboots during a muggy sunny day, I am sorry. I almost punched several people, I certainly shoulder brushed and doled out countless nasty looks and under-the-breath f-bombs to so many people yesterday. I started to feel like the old me, the me I have been trying to improve for a good year and a half now. And while I certainly see a difference in my attitude and my perspective and the load feels a lot lighter than it use to, sometimes I absolutely regress and it feels dirty when I do. I would say that everyday I start out generally happy. But, something so small can trigger this spiral of anger and hate and general unhappiness. I have been going through my days busting my ass and yet totally unsatisfied. By the end I am exhausted, completely drained and any kind of commute feels like a march through the desert. Maybe it is the time of the year. The blues creep in every year leading up to my birthday. My birthday was always this anxiety -producing event that started when I was eleven. My parents had just separated a few weeks before. I was invited to play soccer as part of a halftime show at a UCLA womens game and it was a big deal because they announced our names and we took the field to what seemed like a packed stadium. I looked for her in the stands and at the end of the game, I still scanned them, looking for her. She was supposed to come. My dad, me and my brother were one of the last people to leave and still nos sign of her. I waited up all night for my mother to call. I thought if she calls before midnight, it still counts. At 12:01, I burst into tears and then shut the door on her. Every birthday following became this game of was she going to call? Or what if she does call? I wanted her to call but I also didn't want to talk to her. Each year my birthday hinged on this but there was never a situation I could win. If she didn't call I was destroyed. If she did, I was so nervous to talk to her I'd get sick to my stomach. I am no longer upset with my mother because she missed my 11th birthday and a couple others. But I still can't seem to detach the emotion that comes once the air begins to change this time of year. As I see the countdown to September 20th approaching, my stomach gets a little bit weaker, my energy a little bit slower, and a eventually a general sadness that takes everything to kick. I want to celebrate this year. It is a big birthday and holy fuck I have had quite a decade. I think I will have a wonderful time once the birthday is here, but up until then I may just have to embrace a little Paula Abdul soundtrack.